


Dead Men Tell No Tales

by Civilized_muppets



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Ambiguous/Open Ending, Dark Will, Dark Will Graham, Faked Death, Hannibal Lecter Loves Will Graham, He's Not Really In The Fic But It's a Fact, M/M, Threats, 中文翻译 | Translation in Chinese
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-27
Updated: 2020-04-27
Packaged: 2021-03-01 17:34:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,191
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23880883
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Civilized_muppets/pseuds/Civilized_muppets
Summary: What Will absolutely did not expect, was a gun pointed at his face the second the door shut behind him.By the startled gasp and shaking hand, it was safe to say that Jack hadn’t exactly been expecting him either.
Relationships: Will Graham/Hannibal Lecter
Comments: 9
Kudos: 184





	Dead Men Tell No Tales

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into 中文-普通话 國語 available: [【Translation中译】死无对证 Dead Men Tell No Tales](https://archiveofourown.org/works/24350032) by [HanniBeliever](https://archiveofourown.org/users/HanniBeliever/pseuds/HanniBeliever)



> Okay, I've had this idea in my head for over three years now, and I've finally finished it in a way that I'm happy with. Enjoy!

Very few things genuinely surprised Will these days.

He had married a psychopathic cannibal for fuck’s sake, it’s not as though he was expecting a white picket fence. He was expecting blood, body disposal, that ridiculous plastic suit, and the rude pigs that infested the planet artfully crafted into a five-star meal on his plate every night. Whatever remained of his sanity depended almost entirely on his ability to just go with it whenever Hannibal decided that what was meant to be a quiet night out was going to turn into a hunt when the waiter decided to be an ass, or a bloodbath if he decided to be an ass specifically to  _ Will _ . Needless to say, in the past few years, he had learned to stay on his toes. 

His unholy matrimony to The Chesapeake Ripper did not, however, prepare him for this.

Will had been away for a few days on a fishing trip. Every few months he’d get antsy in the city, and would go for a reprieve. Had it been planned beforehand, Hannibal would’ve come; but the mood had suddenly struck him, so he packed his bag, and gave his husband a call to let him know,( _Sorry honey, but you know how I get. I’ll be back on Saturday, okay? Oh, and please don’t feed Cephy any “pork”, it upsets her stomach. Love you!_ ) It had been 7 years since the fall, if he wanted to run he would have long ago. Not that it would’ve done him much good, but…

He didn’t want to. Hannibal treated him well, and he would never have to worry about money ever again. ( _ What the fuck do you mean you’re literally fucking royalty! _ ) He had a dog, he had fishing trips, he had a life away from the FBI and their demands that did nothing but drive him more insane, away from Freddie Lounds and her relentless accusations. He had loved Molly and Walter, but they were better off without him. Besides, now that he had accepted himself for who he was, and Hannibal was no longer trying to frame him for murder, they were actually pretty happy together. 

Well, minus the occasional argument that Will always won because Hannibal would never stop owing him for all the shit he put him through. Every time he got all high and mighty Will would just casually mention their late daughter and Hannibal would give him whatever he wanted. 

Okay, maybe he was a little spoiled, but he fucking  _ deserved _ it. 

When he opened the door to the lavish home belonging to  _ Dr. and Mr. Renee, really Hannibal? _ , he expected a few things. His beautiful dog, Encephalitis ( _ Yes, Hannibal, I am absolutely serious, I may have mostly forgiven you but I sure as fuck am not going to forget, you ass _ ) running up to greet him. Hannibal’s car wasn’t in the driveway, but perhaps he had parked somewhere else to surprise him with a lovely dinner. It wouldn’t be the first time. 

There was also a slight chance that there would be a victim tied up in the basement, their muffled screams echoing throughout the house, but never beyond.

It wouldn’t be the first time he came home to that either.

What he absolutely did not expect, was a gun pointed at his face the second the door shut behind him.

By the startled gasp and shaking hand, it was safe to say that Jack hadn’t exactly been expecting him either.

It was to be expected, really. Hannibal was protective over what he saw as his, and Will definitely fell into that category. As such, when they had killed Bedelia, the infamous cannibal had very carefully cut off a lock of Will’s hair with the bloody knife and placed it on the table in front of the seat he had occupied at dinner. He tied Will’s hands behind his back, instructed him to pull on them, and cut him loose. He put a small amount of some kind of sedative in the glass Will had been drinking from. He had Will go limp in his arms and dragged his shoes through the blood, before lifting him bridal style back to the car. It was all carefully crafted to appear as though Will was Hannibal’s hostage, and they had made sure that no sign of him was ever found again. He hadn’t been officially declared deceased until last month, but it was almost universally accepted that Will Graham was dead after the first week. Hannibal was perceived as having no reason to keep him alive beyond torture, which Hannibal had never been particularly interested in anyway, and would have added an unnecessary complication to his escape. No one was looking for Will Graham, the last known victim of Hannibal the Cannibal, and that’s exactly how his husband liked it.

Jack Crawford, no doubt, had also believed that Will was dead. Privately, Will mused that it must have been a hell of a shock.

“Well, hello to you too, Jack.”

* * *

Very few things genuinely surprised Jack these days. 

It wasn’t necessarily that his life was hectic, or crazy. More that it had been, and now that he lost everything, he had lost the capacity to care. He had lived through the reign of Hannibal the Cannibal, the disappearance and reappearance of Miriam Lass, the gruesome death of Beverly Katz, the drama of his dear Bella succumbing to cancer. And perhaps, worst of all, he had been oh so generously gifted with a front-row seat to The Ripper’s obsession with Will Graham.

His biggest regret, other than ignoring the teacher when he had insisted that Hannibal had framed him and was the killer he had been searching for all along, was sending Will to Hannibal in the first place. He had practically gift-wrapped his star profiler and handed him over to a sadistic psychopath with a grin on his face. If he could go back in time and change who he had given Will to, he would. Perhaps, if he had, Will would be alive right now. 

When Freddie Lounds received a tip that Hannibal Lecter was in Paris, Jack had been the first one she called. She was just  _ dying _ to know what had really happened to the Murder Husbands. Freddie was one of the few who believed that Will was still alive. Jack, occasionally, entertained the thought that it was perhaps because him being alive would make the better story.

The last thing he expected was for her to be right.

Jack had done some less than savory things to get to where he was. He wasn’t an FBI agent anymore, and even if he was he had no jurisdiction in France without proof. He had been in the city for a month, and had almost left when he saw him.

The Chesapeake Ripper, The Copycat killer, The Monster of Florence, Hannibal the Cannibal.

Sampling herbs at the local market.

If Jack were a less jaded man, he might have laughed.

Lounds had been right. 

He’d stayed in the shadows for days, watching the murderer go about his life. He hadn’t killed anyone as far as Jack could tell. He went to work, went home, occasionally graced high society with his presence. Just like he had in Baltimore. The entire time, there was no sign of anyone else in the house beside the dog.

The dog was a strange addition. From what he remembered Hannibal has never liked them, claiming they got fur all over the furniture. And yet, he had one now. He walked it every day, dutifully cleaning up after it as though he hadn’t once scorned their entire species existence. It was strange.

Every now and then a stray thought on how much Will had liked dogs crossed his mind, how he would have never lived anywhere for any amount of time without at least one. His traitorous mind whispered that the dog meant something, meant that Will was still alive, kept in the ripper's basement and placated with a dog. It was more than enough time to develop Stockholm syndrome, maybe Will was still alive and had never left the house.

Then reality caught up with him. How Hannibal had been nothing if not practical, how he’d been obsessed with Will for his fire. Stockholm syndrome would have robbed him of that. Hannibal wouldn’t have kept him around if he wasn’t interesting. And Will wouldn’t have stayed around in his sound mind. 

_ Well you didn’t do a very good job of letting him keep that, did you? _

No, Will Graham was dead. Plain and simple. Hannibal had probably eaten him, which was why he was never found. 

It was a Saturday when he finally broke into the house, intent on finishing the ripper once and for all or dying in the attempt. He crept into the house, tucking himself into a nook in the entryway so he couldn’t be seen from the doorway. This had the disadvantage of not being able to see the door, and as a consequence whoever walked through it, but Jack knew that Hannibal lived alone and never had guests over, at least not in the five days he'd been watching him.

He didn’t know how long he stood there, with his gun loaded and ready, waiting for the infamous cannibal to step through the doorway. Must have been at least an hour, he was sure. He was considering moving, at least a little bit, when he heard a car pull into the driveway. He tensed, ready for action. The door opened, and Jack jumped out of his hiding spot, pointing his gun at the serial killer…

Only to meet blue eyes instead of brown.

Will.

_ What? _

Jack looked closer, and sure enough, it was definitely Will Graham. He looked older, with a few gray streaks in his brown hair, and crows feet in the corners of his eyes. Jack searched him for wounds, scars, the favoring of one leg over the other, any sign that he had spent seven years trapped with a sadistic psychopath, and found… nothing. 

Will seemed healthy. He looked like he was getting more sleep than he ever had when Jack had known him, he had filled out to a healthy weight. His eyes were clearer than they’d ever been.

“Well, hello to you too, Jack.” The supposedly dead man said.

“Will.” Jack replied. He could say nothing else, his words had almost completely abandoned him. His hands were shaking, his eyes were wide, he was breathing quickly. Was this what a panic attack was like?

Will calmly set the canvas bag he’d been carrying down on the ground beside him before responding.

“Yes. Bet you weren’t expecting to see a dead man, were you? That’s fair, I’ve been gone a few days. Fishing trip, you know how it is. You’re here for Hannibal, right?”

Jack took a moment to take a breath, before slowly nodding. Will looked at him consideringly for a moment.

“Do you want to die today, Jack?” He asked curiously.

Jack swallowed. Maybe Will wasn’t as okay as he first thought. Maybe he had lost his mind under the cannibal’s care.

“Is that a threat?” Jack asked in return.

Will shook his head with a condescending smile.

“No, it’s an honest question. Are you ready to die? Is this how you want to go out? Because, if it is, then by all means, take a seat and make yourself at home. Throw your coat on the floor and put your feet on the table if you want minimal conversation in your demise. He shouldn’t be long now.”

Will shrugged off his coat and hung it on the coat rack, before stepping closer to Jack. The former profiler placed his hand on Jack’s and lowered the gun until it was pointing at the floor before speaking again.

“But if it’s not, then I suggest getting the hell out of this house, boarding the first plane out of this country, and hoping to God that I can convince him that hunting your ass down isn’t worth a few nights sleeping on the couch.”

* * *

Will picked up his fishing bag and walked past Jack, leaving him frozen in the hallway. He honestly didn’t know what Jack would do. The Jack he had known years ago would have stood his ground, but this Jack seemed like he might just run. Will would put up a token protest against Hannibal hunting him down, as Jack Crawford going missing might attract unwanted attention, but Hannibal would not let it slide. 

Especially since Jack had pointed a gun at him, unintentionally or not. 

Hannibal considered threatening Will to be the height of rudeness, after all.

Will climbed the stairs, listening for movement behind him. He heard none. He walked into his and Hannibal’s bedroom, and still heard nothing. He set his bag down on the floor beside Cephy, who had apparently not minded the stranger in the house, the shitty guard dog that she was, and began to open it to put his gear away.

Downstairs, he heard the front door open.

  
  


**Author's Note:**

> Leave a comment if you liked it!


End file.
